


Agent 011

by ValBirch



Series: All the AUs [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:04:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9914567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValBirch/pseuds/ValBirch
Summary: A Stranger Things AU in which Eleven is a brilliant, telekinetic super-spy and Mike is her dorky, supportive tech guy.





	1. Prologue

**I.**  
In June, the heat was stifling. With his forehead pressed up against the glass of a sixteenth-floor window, Mike Wheeler could practically feel the stickiness of the weather, despite the air-conditioned building he was spending his day in. Gazing out at the perfectly still trees just beyond the high metal fencing that kept out unwanted visitors, Mike could think of only two things. One, he was mind-numbingly bored. And two, it was beyond unfair that he had to spend the day cooped up in his father’s office while his friends rode their bikes up and down Cherry Street without him. Eyes rolling to the back of his head in frustration, Mike gathered all his strength to keep from cartoonishly banging his head against the window in anguish and instead let out an exasperated sigh, hoping it would draw his father’s attention. It didn’t.

Mike had spent the entire morning working on his latest campaign, scrawling in his messy handwriting across the wrinkled pages of his well-worn notebook, but had been unable to regain his focus following lunch in the tenth-floor cafeteria and had spent the last hour fidgeting. Worst of all, he had forgotten his comic books at home—Mike could see them clearly, set on the decorative table just inside the Wheeler’s front door. Eyebrows furrowed together, Mike turned away from the window and glanced over to where his father sat, keyboard clacking as he typed away. Mike watched with feigned interest as complex code appeared on the screen with every clack, his father writing a software program.

“I’m going exploring, dad,” Mike said finally, pushing himself away from the window ledge on which he had been leaning. Ted didn’t look away from his screen, but mumbled something that Mike took to be permission before he plodded off, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans and fishing around for the five-dollar bill his mother had handed him that morning. Maybe he’d go back to the cafeteria and have a snack—the cookies were surprisingly delicious.

As Mike shuffled down the hall, passing carbon copies of his father’s office, towards the imposing elevator, his mind ran through several possibilities for how he could spend the remainder of his afternoon and, before the elevator doors were fully open, he had made up his mind to skip the cookie and venture into the basement. Basements were always creepy and maybe he’d find some cool old piece of equipment he could smuggle out to show Lucas, Dustin, and Will.

Mike’s first problem came as the elevator closed, doors coming together with a deep metallic click. He reached out to press the button marked with a large letter **B** and frowned when nothing happened, the elevator remaining stationary. Mike tried the button several more times to no avail before noticing the small black scanner just below the button pad. He rolled his eyes. Of course he needed an identification card to work the elevator; that much should have been obvious. This was a government building, after all, and it wasn’t like they let any weirdo walk in off the street. Just as Mike began wondering how long he’d be waiting in elevator limbo, the machine began to descend, pausing on the fourteenth floor for a group of three people to enter. Quietly, Mike observed as one of the occupants, a tall and severe looking blonde woman in a pantsuit pressed a rectangular white card against the sensor before hitting the button for the tenth floor. _Cafeteria_ , Mike thought, sinking further into the corner by the button pad, hoping to be ignored.

The elevator stopped several times during its descent, a cheerful _ding_ sounding each time the doors opened for busy-looking adults to enter or exit. The only constant in the small, square space was that Mike continued to be overlooked, though he didn’t mind this. As a quiet kid, it tended to be easy for him to remain unnoticed, a trait that allowed for adventures to often find him. And, at that particular moment, Mike had little idea just what kind of adventure would find him that afternoon.

It was while the elevator was at its most crowded that someone entered on the fifth floor; a short, balding man in thin wire-rimmed glasses who tapped his keycard and pressed the button for the second floor. Mike carefully shifted his arm and quickly pressed the **B** button, unable to help the small smile that spread across his lips as the button became outlined in red. When the elevator reached the ground floor, Mike pressed himself into the corner, adults bustling out until he was alone, an exhilarated feeling coursing through his veins.

Finally, with a dull thud, the elevator came to a stop at the basement and Mike slid out between the doors before they had even fully opened. Immediately, as his eyes cast their first glance down the long hallway he had just entered, Mike had the sinking sense that he was not meant to be there.

This was not a regular basement—not by a longshot—and it was nowhere near what he had imagined. Everything looked so white and clean, almost sterile. It brought to mind distant memories of the hospital his grandma had stayed in while she was sick a few years earlier. Chewing his bottom lip, Mike continued forward, his sneakers sliding noiselessly across the linoleum flooring. He noted the florescent lights overhead, buzzing faintly, and wondered vaguely what exactly the government was working on here.

He knew little other than that this was a government building. Lucas insisted that it was military and that they made bombs, but Mike wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t imagine his father—average in every way—working in a place where weapons were built. Besides, the sign outside said the Department of Energy. They probably made lightbulbs. At least, that was what he and Dustin had bet on. Yet, as Mike wandered down the hallway, a nervous feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, he wondered whether Lucas had been right all along.

Mike’s musings were interrupted by his second problem—one that would occupy him for the remainder of the summer. Mike’s second problem was the sound of screaming. It was far off, yet unmistakable; the sound of a girl yelling, terrified. His heart leapt into his throat and, without thinking, he charged forward—whoever was screaming sounded like they needed help.

As Mike rounded a corner, following the heart-wrenching noise, he came face to face with a white-haired man in a black suit, skidding to a halt just before he toppled into the man. A stern face arranged into a careful frown looked down at him with probing eyes.

“Young man,” he said, his voice gentler and kinder than Mike had expected, though he didn’t trust that tone, “What are you doing here?”

“I just, uh,” Mike was sweating as he attempted to gather his thoughts. “I got lost looking for the cafeteria.” It was only half a lie and hopefully he was selling it convincingly. He tried a small, innocent smile—the kind that charmed his mother into allowing him extra dessert. The man raised his eyebrows at him as though he were sizing Mike up and Mike felt immediately uncomfortable under the inscrutable gaze.

“This is a restricted area,” the white-haired man continued, eyes narrowed, “You’ll want to go back the way you came.” Mike tensed as a strong hand came down on his shoulder and reversed his direction, guiding him back towards the elevator. “The cafeteria is on the tenth floor.”

“Yes sir,” Mike gulped and practically leaped into the elevator as the doors opened. He watched nervously as the man leaned in and pressed his keycard against the sensor before hitting the correct button.

“This isn’t a safe place to wander around in.” The words were spoken as the doors slid shut and Mike let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. There was something about that man that made goosebumps run up and down his neck. And there was definitely something strange happening in that basement.

The screaming he had heard haunted Mike for the rest of the afternoon, as he sat quietly in his father’s office, doodling absently in his notebook. When he sat down at the dinner table with his family that evening, Mike found that he had very little appetite, poking at the roast beef and carrots his mother had placed in front of him.

“Is everything all right, Michael?” Karen asked, after his older sister, Nancy, had finished obtaining permission to go to the movies with Barb that weekend. Mike shrugged, not making eye contact. He could feel his mother’s eyes boring into the top of his head and forced himself to look at her.

“Yeah,” he nodded weakly and scooped some carrots into his mouth, chewing pointedly. His mother’s cooking was always delicious, but he was having a hard time tasting any flavours. Swallowing hard, Mike turned his eyes towards his father. “Dad?” Ted looked up from his meal, watching his son and waiting for him to continue. “What sort of work do they do in the basement of your building?”

“Hmm?” Ted looked puzzled by the question and paused a moment, as if thinking, “That’s the Research and Development Lab. Why do you ask?” Mike almost rolled his eyes, but resisted the urge. He doubted if his dad had even noticed he had been gone at all that afternoon.

“What do they do though?” Mike prodded, ignoring the confused look he was getting from his sister.

“Well I’m not sure,” Ted shrugged and returned to his dinner, “Research, I suppose.” Mike’s face fell flat. That was not a satisfactory answer. He pressed further, without wanting to reveal his run-in with the white-haired man.

“Do they experiment?” he asked, “On people?”

“What are you talking about Mike?” Nancy chimed in, eyes narrowed. 

“Mike,” Ted sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his glasses. “They’re the government. They protect us. They’re not hurting anyone, especially not in the Department of Energy.”

Mike wasn’t convinced. He opened his mouth to continue, but his mother interrupted.

“You can stay home tomorrow,” Karen suggested, “It must be boring.”

“No!” Mike exclaimed, too quickly, earning him a quizzical expression from everyone at the table except Holly. “It’s okay,” he continued, deliberately slowing his voice down, “I had fun. I want to go back.”

 **II.**  
In July, it rained. On a dismal Tuesday morning, soggy and grey, his father’s office was abuzz with talk of an outage in Research and Development—one that needed to be solved immediately. Mike’s ears perked up. This could be his chance. He had spent the remainder of June intent on his father’s IT work, learning everything he could about the computer and security systems that Ted was familiar with. And Ted was more than happy to share, impressed and more than a little flattered that his son was finally taking an interest in something other than that strange board game he played with his friends on the weekends.

It was because of this streak of pride that Mike was able to so easily convince his father to allow him to tag along to Research and Development to survey the damage to the electronic security equipment. While Ted and another man, slightly shorter and stouter than his father, were chatting with a woman in a long white lab coat, Mike slipped away, keeping his head down and his ears peeled. The Lab was mostly bathed in darkness, with only a few emergency torches emanating pale orange light down the hallways—the power had to be cut given the inch of water that Mike was currently sloshing through across the floor. Most of the people he passed were wearing construction clothing, contractors fixing leaks, draining the water, and hoping to quickly repair the fried power grid. It was easier for Mike to blend in and, best of all, there was no sign of the white-haired man.

Mike moved down the hallway he had remembered the screaming coming from slowly, careful not to splash too heavily, using the small Yoda flashlight on his keychain—a gift from Will— to keep himself oriented and able to see. The hallway was lined with several heavy-looking doors and Mike’s nerves were on edge in the near-blinding darkness. He almost turned back, but was stopped by something that sounded distinctly like sobbing. Ignoring the shaking of his hands, Mike pressed forward into the shadows of the hall and stopped outside a door close to the end. He tried it, surprised when the handle gave, until he remembered that they had cut the power to this wing.

He stepped into the room and used his flashlight to glance around, hearing a sharp intake of breath not more than a few feet from him. Mike swung the weak beam of light in the direction of the noise and his jaw fell open at what he saw, albeit dimly.

There was a girl in the room with him, a girl in a hospital gown. At least, he was fairly certain she was a girl. She had soft and delicate features, even if her hair was buzzed close to the scalp. She looked at him with fear in her eyes, evident despite her squinting in the light. Mike immediately raised his arms up in a gesture of peace.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “What are you doing here?” She said nothing, but continued to look at him with those intense eyes. “Do you need help?” Mike continued, his eyes following the beam of his flashlight to her bare feet, back to her hospital gown, then back to her face. Was she sick? Did she live here? It didn’t make sense—this wasn’t a hospital. Mike took a step forward, shocked when the mysterious girl shrunk away as though she were afraid of him.

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Mike said hurriedly, “I don’t want to hurt you. Do you have a name?” She appeared to hesitate for a moment, then held out her arm towards him and Mike had to do a double take when he shone the light there he noticed a small tattoo on her wrist, tiny printing of three numbers: 011.

“Eleven?” he inquired, his voice quizzical, “What’s it mean?” The girl looked at him emphatically then pointed at herself with a firm hand, a finger prodding at her chest.

“That’s your name?” Mike frowned. The girl nodded curtly and Mike licked his lips, trying to think of what to say. “Well, okay. Eleven. My name’s Mike. It’s short for Michael. Maybe I can call you El? Short for Eleven?” Another nod.

Mike opened his mouth to speak again, but the flickering of lights coming back to life caused the words to die in his throat. The sound of voices coming down the hall sent his heart into his feet. He was trapped.

“Go,” the girl—Eleven—whispered at him, her voice soft. It reminded Mike oddly of bells and he was glad she could speak.

“But…” Mike began to protest. He didn’t want to leave her there, alone and scared, but he felt himself being pushed towards the door, even though his feet weren’t moving. He stared at the girl in disbelief as his back hit the door he had entered from, watching as a drop of blood leaked out of her left nostril.

_No way._

“I’ll come back,” Mike’s words rushed from his mouth, “I promise.”

“Promise?” Eleven frowned.

“It means something you can’t break. Ever.” Mike informed her, “It means I’ll be back.” He paused, watching her for a moment before the voices got louder.

“Go now,” she instructed, firmly. Mike slipped out of the door, glad that the hallway was still bathed in darkness. He shrunk into a corner, willing his heart to keep from hammering too loudly as he saw the white-haired man round the corner and enter Eleven’s room.

Mike didn’t sleep that night. He was overwhelmed with thoughts of Eleven, who was basically Jean Grey. Why was she locked up in a lab? And how could he help her? For several days, he wracked his brains, desperate to figure out how he could safely return to visit this girl who had captured his interest. On Saturday, four days after he had encountered Eleven, Mike was struck with an idea. He pulled out the Wheeler’s phonebook and ran his finger along the thin white pages until he found the name he was looking for.

**Clarke, Scott—Hawkins, Indiana—260 867 5309**

“Hello?” the familiar voice of his science teacher answered after three short rings.

“Mr. Clarke? It’s Mike. Mike Wheeler. I have a science question.” Mike nervously played with the cord of the phone. How was he going to adequately explain why he was calling Mr. Clarke in the middle of July with _this_ question, of all things.

“Mike?” Mr. Clarke sounded surprised, “It’s summertime. And I’m sure you’ve already finished all your extra credit work.”

“Yeah,” Mike gulped, “I have and I know but this is important. It’s A.V. Club stuff.”

“Well, okay,” Mr. Clarke said, “What can I do for you?”

“If I wanted to put a security camera on a loop, would that be possible?” Mike closed his eyes, his palms feeling suddenly very clammy as they gripped the receiver. There was an audible pause on the other side of the call and Mike gulped again.

“Why do you need to know this?”

“Uh,” Mike’s mouth went dry, “Dustin and I are, uh, it’s for...fun?” He winced. That couldn’t have been convincing. “And besides,” Mike continued, trying to salvage the conversation, “We’re trying to open this curiosity door.” Another audible pause filled the air, followed by a short chuckle.

“Do you have a pen and paper?” Mr. Clarke asked. Mike breathed a sigh of relief and nodded vigorously before remembering it was July and he was on the phone, not in a classroom. 

For the remainder of the month, Mike visited El as often as he could, slowly perfecting his means of sneaking into the Lab. He had used his old library card to craft a false ID badge, coding it with the administrative access codes he’d used his father’s computer to locate and he had been able to set the automatic visual loop on the basement security cameras every day like clockwork while his father took a two o’clock coffee break. This, of course, did not guarantee access to Eleven and more often than not he didn’t get very far. There were almost always men in white coats and sometimes men with guns lurking in the hallways where her room was. But each day he’d try, always carrying a chocolate bar in his pocket, sometimes managing to steal a few minutes with her.

“Thank you,” El took the Kit-Kat, her favourite, from his hands and made quick work of unwrapping it.

“It’s cool,” Mike grinned, “You’re my friend.” El’s eyes narrowed and she paused midway through biting the chocolate.

“Friend? What is…friend?”

“A friend,” Mike pursed his lips—how could she not know what a friend was? Had she lived here her entire life? “A friend is someone you’d do anything for.” He gestured towards the chocolate bar. “And someone you share your snacks with.”

 **III.**  
In August, Mike came to the troubling realization that he wouldn’t be able to visit Eleven once he returned to school and this worried him into several sleepless nights that he spent plotting.

“Look,” Mike spoke quickly during one of his visits as El munched on her Kit-Kat, hoping she could keep up. “You want to escape this place, right?” He had never asked her what the men in white coats did to her, but part of him didn’t think he wanted to know. El looked up from her chocolate bar and nodded, her eyes sad.

“Yes.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Bad men.”

“Okay,” Mike nodded, trying to push back the tears that were threatening the corners of his eyes. “I can probably disable the security on these doors. I’ve been paying attention to everything my dad does and asking questions and stuff. I can give you five minutes before there’s an automatic reset. Do you get it?”

“Yes,” El replied, “Today?”

“Do you want to leave that badly?” Without thinking, Mike reached out and grasped Eleven’s hand, noticing how she didn’t flinch at his touch. She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “Tomorrow then,” Mike continued, “Tomorrow is better. Tomorrow at 3:15.” El looked at him blankly and Mike glanced around, noticing that there wasn’t a clock in the room. He quickly pulled off his watch and slid it into her hands. “When the numbers say three-one-five the doors will open. You’ll have to use your powers to do the rest. But there’s this drainpipe that’s still open from when it flooded, remember that? Yeah, it’s just by the elevators. It looks big enough for you to fit through. Got it?”

“Thank you,” El tried a small smile and squeezed his hand. Mike felt goosebumps form on his arm and flushed, cheeks burning red. He swallowed, the knowledge that this was probably the last time he’d ever see her sinking in.

“You can do it, El,” he said, mouth dry, “And maybe when you’re free we can ride bikes and you can meet my friends. I think you’d really like Will and…” His voice trailed off. Even as the words left his mouth, Mike knew there was a slim chance that any of this would happen. If El did get free, she’d run as far away as possible and if she didn’t…well, Mike didn’t want to think about that. El looked up and their eyes met. Mike could swear he felt electricity. Tentatively, he moved in closer. When El didn’t back away, he quickly leaned forward and planted his lips on her cheek for a short second.

“Good luck, El,” he mumbled, smiling as he looked down at the floor. “I should, uh, I should go.” He stood and, with some difficulty, let go of her hand, taking the empty chocolate wrapper to dispose of. She raised her hand in a quick wave.

_Goodbye Mike._

Mike heard the words, though he could have sworn Eleven’s lips didn’t move. Could she…? There was no time to ask. Ducking out of the room, he took a moment to preserve that voice in his memory. It was a voice he’d remember for the rest of his life, a voice he’d not hear again for fourteen years.


	2. One

_November 1998_

Elle Hammond, though she rarely went by that name these days, glanced down at the cinnamon-sprinkled foam atop the cappuccino in her hands and took a small sip before setting the mug back atop its yellow-patterned saucer. She allowed her eyes to travel to the door of the coffee shop once more, roaming over and resting briefly upon each other the other occupants of the small room with a vague interest. A few feet away from where she sat was a couple in their late teens, dressed in denim and very obviously on an endearingly awkward first date, each smiling and giggling at every word that left the other’s mouth. A couple tables over, by the window that faced out towards a small expanse of green park, was an elderly woman with thin red lips reading a paperback romance novel, a cup of tea rapidly cooling in front of her. And just by the door, was a young blond man scrawling away in a worn notepad, a guitar case leaning up against the back of his chair. Face impassive, El leaned back and readjusting the sleeves of her crisp white blouse, straightening them at the wrists and pressing the sleeve on her left arm back ever so slightly to check the time.

3:18.

Mike was late.

A small frown etched itself onto Elle’s lips. She had grown accustomed to Mike being reliably punctual and the smallest hint of anxiety began to form a knot in the pit of her stomach, her dark-painted nails drumming a terse pattern on the wooden surface of the table as a result. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Elle took a moment to gather her thoughts, focusing on the cappuccino set down in front of her, searching for patterns in the cinnamon. Once she felt grounded again, Elle reached into the black bag resting on her lap and pulled out her phone, glancing briefly at its screen.

No missed calls.

Elle ran her tongue across the surface of her teeth, pursing her lips tightly together and, just as she slid the phone back into its usual spot in her bag, the bells over the door jingled, announcing a new arrival. She looked to her left as a cool gust of wind intruded upon the warmth of the coffee shop from the dreary November afternoon outside, bringing with it a tall, lanky man, near her age. His black hair, messy by nature, was windswept and, as he bustled towards her table, he hurriedly swept it away from his dark eyes; eyes that focused in on her with an apologetic look behind black-rimmed glasses that sat askew on his nose. Elle fixed him with a cool stare, eyebrows raised as she watched him shrug off his trim coat, straighten his glasses, and slide into the chair opposite her, slinging his messenger bag over the back of his chair.

“Sorry,” he muttered, clearly out of breath, his elbows coming to rest on the table. Elle’s expression softened into a grin at the imagined picture of Mike rushing down the street, limbs flailing, that ran through her mind. “The dog wouldn’t come inside,” Mike continued by way of explanation, pushing his glasses upwards and rubbing the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. Elle clicked her tongue, her smirk becoming more pronounced as she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Winslow is trouble,” she remarked, fondly remembering the many times she’d had to go to the dry cleaner to remove the drool and muddy paw prints from her skirts and dresses—and not-so-fondly remembering the time Winslow had brought her a dead rabbit during their long walk through Central Park the first (and last) time she had agreed to pet-sit.

“Yeah, well…” Mike’s voice trailed off into a chuckle. He couldn’t argue with her—his dog, a big and dopey Mastiff and Bloodhound mix, was a disaster in every sense of the word. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long,” Mike mumbled, changing the subject. Elle smiled crookedly at him and took a deliberately slow sip of her cappuccino. Her answer, or lack thereof, caused Mike to flush a deep red. “I’m going to grab something,” he announced, making a move to stand but Elle shook her head sharply and motioned for him to remain seated.

“I told you,” she said firmly, “I owed you a coffee after that business in Chicago.” Mike’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of crimson, one beyond what seemed humanly possible. He shook his head, but stayed in his chair, knowing full-well that Elle would not capitulate. She bought him a coffee after every successful mission—it had become their tradition.

“It’s my job.” Mike grinned, his fingers coming up to twist through his unruly hair. “Besides, you could have gotten out of that mess yourself.”

“Maybe,” Elle laughed softly, “But you’re good at your job. And we make a good team.” Her voice was nonchalant as she pushed herself away from the table. “What can I get for you?” They both knew she didn’t have to ask—Mike always got the same thing, but Elle figured it was the polite thing to do and Mike didn’t mind being predictable.

“Just a dark roast,” Mike answered sheepishly. Elle nodded and made her way to the counter to order. As she waited behind a tired looking young woman ordering a double—no triple—espresso, Elle’s eyes darted back to Mike every few moments. His shoulders were slightly hunched as he stared fixedly down at his phone, fingers working furiously across the button pad. Elle shook her head as the lady with the triple espresso paid and left, wondering, with amusement, who he was hacking now and to what end. She stepped up to the counter and ordered Mike’s coffee, along with a blueberry muffin—his favourite—and a shortbread cookie that had caught her eye earlier.

Moments later, order in hand, she returned to their table. A comfortable silence fell between them, as it usually did during these post-mission moments. As partners, Mike and Elle were in constant communication. As friends, they were free to enjoy one another’s company however they pleased.

“Remember when we met?” Elle asked finally, munching thoughtfully on the shortbread cookie she had gotten for herself.

“The first or the second time?” Mike raised an eyebrow at her. His tone was playful, though Elle could hear the hint of hurt behind his words. It had been just over a year ago since Mike Wheeler had walked unexpectedly back onto her life. She swallowed the lump of cookie in her throat and took to stirring her cappuccino thoughtfully, watching as the last of the foam was absorbed into the caramel coloured liquid.

\-----

_June 1997_

The Metropolitan Museum of Art was one of Elle’s favourite places in the city. Outside of when it was necessary for work, she wasn’t entirely comfortable in large crowds of people and avoided public attractions whenever she could, but this place had always been the exception. She found it soothing to sit amongst students sketching away, mimicking the masters, and found herself especially drawn to the soft hues of Monet, relaxing and beautiful, or the long lines of El Greco, violent in a meaningful way.

Today she sat in front of El Greco’s _View of Toledo_ , not paying attention to the painting—she had already committed each of its details to memory—but focused instead on the book pressed open across her lap, a half-eaten Kit-Kat in its partly crumpled red wrapper resting on its pages as she read.

“Lovely shades of blue.”

A man’s voice, gentle and slightly tentative, accompanied a creaking of the bench she sat on, indicating someone had sat down beside her, someone who had just spoken the code she had been given earlier that morning.

So, this was to be her new partner. Elle almost dreaded turning around.

“I prefer the greys,” she said quietly, closing the book and looking up at the stranger. Elle was certain that for a moment her heart stopped, refusing to beat as her own eyes met the darkest orbs she’d ever seen; eyes she had never forgotten. His face was the same too—a smattering of soft freckles, intense cheekbones, messy dark hair. He wore glasses now, but it was a familiar face nonetheless and it was frozen in shock. She knew, from his parted lips and the earnest expression in his eyes, that he remembered.

“El, it’s you.”

That’s when her heart started beating again—she felt it jolt back to life inside her chest, tight and breathless as it was. He remembered, not only her face, but the name he had given her, the one she had taken to using all these years. She found it hard to think of something to say. Mike was looking at her as though she were a ghost, though she supposed that was exactly what she was to him.

“You escaped.” His voice, dropped to a whisper, continued after a beat of silence.

“Yes.” Elle bit her lip and said nothing more, memories of that day pushed far into the back of her mind and hidden under lock and key. She remembered only Mike’s encouraging words and the press of his lips against her cheek. There was a silence, tense and awkward, filled with fourteen years of questions and doubts. Elle noticed, but didn’t mention, the shaking of Mike’s hands in his lap.

When Lucas had revealed his new partner would be Agent Eleven, Mike had, of course, entertained the fantasy that she would be the mysterious girl from his past. But he had never thought it possible, never more than just a hopeless fantasy from a small part of him that still longed for closure. All the field agents had codenames. It was just a coincidence.

Yet, he had noticed the Kit-Kat on her lap as he approached and it had dried his throat. When she spoke, the sound of her voice was unmistakable and he felt as though he were living an out-of-body experience.

“This is crazy,” Mike said finally, voice quaking. “Can I…can I hug you?”

Elle hesitated a moment. She had always been reserved. But Mike had saved her life—years ago, yes, but that didn’t change the fact that he had been her first friend. Swallowing her reservations, she folded her book closed and nodded. Mike noticed her discomfort and remained still.

“Never mind,” he said softly, “Is everything, uh, how’s it going?” Elle grimaced inwardly. He was just as kind and thoughtful as she remembered and it wouldn’t be easy to tell him what she was thinking, but she supposed it would be best to get it over with quickly.

“Mike,” Elle tried to smile, to soften her voice, “We can’t work together.”

“What?” Mike looked at her in shock. She noted, with relief, that his voice was incredulous and not angry. “Why not?”

“History,” she replied simply.

“What do you mean?” Mike looked concerned. “Do they not know about…about what you can do?”

“No,” Elle shook her head, “And I’d like it to stay that way.” She wasn’t particularly interested in having her powers known—that information in the wrong hands could be dangerous. It had landed her in a cold and sterile laboratory for the first twelve years of her life and she had no interest in disclosing or repeating that story.

“El,” Mike was impassioned, earnest, “I promise, your secret is safe with me.”

“Mike…”

“Listen, please,” Mike interrupted her, “Do you know how I got this job? Lucas. Lucas was my best friend growing up and he hired me because I’m really good at computers—like, really good, but that’s beside the point—I’ve known Lucas longer than anyone else and we were friends that summer that…the summer when I met you. I never told him anything, I swear you have to…”

“Mike. Be quiet.” It was Elle’s turn to interrupt. Over his shoulder, she had noticed someone familiar enter the room. Mike frowned and looked at her quizzically, concerned by the intensely focused expression on her face.

“Were you followed here?” she asked, leaning closer to him. Mike shook his head.

“No,” he said, “Definitely not.”

“Follow my lead,” she whispered, grabbing his hand, “And don’t turn around.”

\-----

_November 1998_

Elle felt her phone buzz from its spot in her bag at the exact same moment she heard Mike’s beep in his pocket. Their eyes met over the table and they couldn’t help the laugh that they shared.

“Duty calls,” Mike groaned as he pulled his phone out and glanced at the screen.

“I suppose it’s convenient for Lucas that we’re together,” Elle shrugged, standing again and draining the last of her cappuccino before sliding into her long trench coat. Focused on its buttons, she didn’t notice Mike’s cheeks turn pale pink as he quickly downed the remainder of his coffee.

“I guess so,” he mumbled, following her example and making quick work of his coat. “Shall we?” He gestured for her to lead the way and El navigated around the cramped tables of the coffee shop before stepping out into the cold afternoon air, her eyes immediately falling on the black SUV that was to be their ride. Mike walked along behind her, slipping ahead at the last possible moment to open the door of the car. Elle playfully rolled her eyes and Mike grinned at her

“After you, Agent Eleven.” He made a mock-gallant gesture, half bowing and half waving her towards the door. Elle swatted at his arm and she climbed into the SUV, shifting to the far side to make room for Mike.

“What do you think it is this time?” he asked as he closed the door and settled in beside her, “Top secret documents? Preventing an assassination? Aliens?”

“Definitely aliens,” Elle said quietly, smile on her face.

It wasn’t aliens, though both would have likely preferred that to what actually awaited them at headquarters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as you probably noticed, there are two timelines in this chapter. That'll be something I do throughout the story—so it'll technically be two stories in one. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think!


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So first of all, I am _so_ sorry that this took practically forever. I got extremely busy with school and life and things were looking pretty grim for a while, but here's a brand new chapter for you! The plot thickens a bit and Mike is oblivious. 
> 
> Second of all, thank you to everyone who has read this and liked it and especially those of you who have left reviews—they really make me smile and provide me with inspiration!
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this! Please let me know what you think.

_**November 1998** _

Lucas Sinclair sunk back into his chair and took a long sip of the coffee his assistant had just brought in. The strong aroma of the dark roast restored some of his liveliness but did little to dissipate his headache. It had been a trying and stressful few days, filled with several tense phone calls and alarming information crossing his desk. 

It was somewhat of a relief to see Mike and Eleven bustle through his office doors moments later, though bustle could really only accurately describes Mike’s movements. Eleven nearly seemed to float when she walked and Lucas wasn’t surprised that she was so good at going incognito. Taking another sip out of his polished blue mug, Lucas gestured for them—his best team of agents—to sit, which they did, Elle tucking a stray piece of hair away behind her ear and Mike crossing his long legs, elbows coming up to rest on the edges of the chair. 

“Eleven, Mike,” Lucas decided to cut right to the chase, “We have reason to believe something strange is happening in Hawkins.” 

Mike’s eyes narrowed immediately at the mention of his hometown and the coffee he had hurriedly gulped down just twenty minutes earlier was threatening to come right back up. He knew the worst was coming—that he and Elle would be sent back to Hawkins—and he felt his throat grow dry. Hurriedly, Mike chanced a glance sat Elle out of the corner of his eye, feigning to adjust his glasses. He noticed how, though her face remained calm and impassive, her shoulders had tensed up ever so slightly. 

“Strange?” Mike echoed, pushing his glasses back into place and looking at Lucas in earnest. 

“It sounds ridiculous,” Lucas muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “But we’re talking rogue government agents abducting children for testing some weapons program that has no authorization.” Mike swallowed—it didn’t sound quite as ridiculous as Lucas imagined. His mind raced through memories from when he was twelve years old; dark corridors, a girl in a hospital gown, a stern man with a shock of white hair. 

Lucas’s hand hovered for a moment over a thick manilla folder on his desk and, with a heavy breath, he slid it across the smooth cherry-wood surface to Mike and Eleven. Elle glanced down at the file but made no move to reach for it. 

“What’s the assignment?” she asked, her voice hard. Elle was usually reserved around Lucas and others, but this was different. She almost sounded angry. 

“We want to get someone on the inside to observe, a recon mission of sorts,” Lucas said, “And if—”

“I’ll do it,” Mike chimed in, earning him a sideways glance from Lucas and a harsh, albeit brief, glare from Elle. 

“You’re not really a field agent, Mike,” Lucas grinned, “No offence.” Lucas’s own mind, which had been reeling for the past forty-eight hours, took a momentary break as he envisioned a high-school aged Mike trying—and failing—to climb the rope in gym class. 

“And I can handle it,” Elle said pointedly. Lucas nodded his agreement. He had never encountered an agent more effective than Eleven and there was no one else he could imagine entrusting this case to. It was personal. 

“There’s one more thing,” Lucas sighed, gesturing towards the manilla folder that still remained untouched on the desk. Mike reached forward and pulled it onto his lap, opening it tentatively, his hands suddenly clammy. “Page fifteen,” Lucas indicated, “It’s…”

“Will…” Mike had already flipped to the page, breathing out his childhood friend’s name before Lucas could finish his sentence. Staring up at him from a photograph in the folder wasn’t Will, but it was a face he recognized—a young amber-haired girl looked up at him from a photograph, her round green eyes and soft smile so similar to Will’s. It was his daughter, Rachel, the little girl who had latched herself affectionately to his leg the last time he had visited Hawkins. Mike felt anger bubble up inside his chest. What did those bastards want with Rachel Byers? His hands were shaking suddenly and Elle reassuringly squeezed his arm.

“This is obviously time sensitive,” Lucas said quietly, “Your flight leaves in the morning, so go home, get your things in order and familiarize yourself with the file.” 

Mike and Elle left Lucas’s office in sullen silence, walking down the hallway with several words unspoken between them. Finally, as they waited for the elevator, Mike broke the silence. 

“Elle, are you going to be able to do this?” he asked quietly. She looked over at him and nodded firmly, her face still an unreadable mask. 

“Are you sure?”

_Trust me._ Her voice rang out clearly in his mind and Mike nodded. He trusted Elle with his life. 

_**June 1997** _

With one hand wrapped securely around Mike’s, Elle hurriedly packed away her book and her half-eaten Kit-Kat bar into the compact black bag resting beside her. She stood abruptly, Mike following suit, and effortlessly slung the bag over her shoulder. 

“C’mon,” she whispered, turning on her heel and heading in the direction opposite from where Mike had come. Mike didn’t need to be told twice and kept pace with her, trying to control how sweaty his palms were becoming. 

As they exited the gallery room and moved into the corridor, Mike risked a quick glance behind them and noted that they had gained more pursuers. Three men in dark suits and sunglasses followed along behind them, weaving through crowds of people that didn’t seem to be in the way of Mike and Elle themselves. It was odd that they were able to move so fluidly and looking forward again, Mike noted how the crowds ahead of them seemed to part as they approached only to consume the empty space behind them as soon as they had passed. He knew instinctively that it had something to do with Elle. 

“What’s the plan?” Mike asked under his breath. 

_Don’t talk._

Mike heard Elle’s voice, firm and commanding, in his head. He was reminded, all at once, of their last parting when he could have sworn she had said goodbye to him without moving her lips. So she _could_ communicate telepathically. Incredible. He wondered, vaguely if she would be able to hear him. 

_Plan?_ He repeated the word in his head pointedly, trying to send his thoughts in Elle’s direction. If she heard him, she gave no indication of it. As they turned a tight corner, Elle shot a quick glance backwards and her brow furrowed. 

_We need to get out of here without causing a panic. They’re armed._

Mike gulped. There was no way these guys would shoot them in this extremely public place, right? He and Elle continued hurrying down this less crowded hall, passing washrooms and heavy metal maintenance doors. Suddenly Mike had an idea, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Can you buy me thirty seconds?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before he bent over the keypad on the maintenance room door. His face broke out into a relieved smile as he quickly keyed in a six-digit combination. He heard something that sounded distinctly like bones cracking and shocked gasps in tandem with the clicking of the latch as a small green light flickered on the keypad. Mike pushed the door open and slid through it, Elle following just behind him, walking backwards. The door was slow in closing—or, it would have been, had Elle not helped it along. The bodies that still pursued them, fewer now, slammed against the thick metal barrier. 

Mike took a moment to catch his breath. It wasn’t often he was expected to run in the field, much less from several angry looking men with guns. 

“Are you okay?” Elle asked, straightening out her cardigan. 

“I think so,” Mike couldn’t help but to laugh, “Nice move with the door.”

“You too. How did you know that?” Elle looked at him with an expression halfway between amazed and suspicious. Mike felt his cheeks go red. 

“Just, well, you know…” he mumbled weakly. Elle raised an eyebrow at him and shook her head. 

“I actually don’t.” Her voice was amused, but her gaze was serious. 

“I’m good at computers,” Mike shrugged, trying a small smile. Elle looked intensely at him a moment longer, surveying him, before a smile broke out over her lips. 

“Do you hack every building you visit?” she asked as they bounded up the stairs. Mike stopped in his tracks. 

“So you can read my mind?” He did, in fact, have a hobby of gathering security and override codes for buildings throughout the city, especially those that agents frequented—those codes tended to come in handy, though they were changed often. 

“No,” Elle laughed at the suggestion, “I can’t do that. Not exactly.” Mike opened his mouth to ask for further explanation, but Elle shook her head and began climbing the cement stairs, gesturing that he should follow. 

“Why are—” Mike began, but Elle cut him off.

“There will be people waiting for us downstairs and outside, so we need an alternate exit.” 

Mike didn’t like the sound of that. 

They climbed until they reached the roof, emerging out into the bright sunlight of mid-afternoon. It was so humid that Mike could practically see the air rippling in front of him. He followed along behind Elle as she made her way over to the west-facing edge of the roof and glanced out over the horizon towards the trees that lined the property.

“Trust me?” she asked, turning towards Mike. He looked at her and sucked in his cheeks. Did he trust her? Did he even have a choice? Swallowing his inhibitions, Mike nodded. “On the count of three,” Elle instructed, her hand tightening around his. “One…”

Mike felt his palm grow clammy, the realization of what she was asking him to do finally sinking in. His heart began to race. 

“Two.” 

He prayed silently to whatever god was listening that he wouldn’t die jumping from the roof of one of New York’s largest tourist attractions. They locked eyes for a moment and Elle offered him a small, reassuring smile. 

“Three.”

In sync with Elle, he stepped off the roof and for the briefest moment felt himself plummeting before his body slowed down, as though a parachute had dispatched over him. Moments later, he landed gently, next to Elle, feet firmly on the ground amongst the trees.

“I think that went pretty well,” Mike grinned as he pulled a small bramble out of his messy hair. 

_**November 1998** _

That evening, when Mike got home, he was greeting by two smiling faces—Dustin and Winslow, whose slobbering tongue hung from his mouth. Mike greeted them weakly as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it onto the rack by the front door. 

“What’s up man? You look like you saw a ghost,” Dustin commented, scratching Winslow behind the ears. 

“Yeah,” Mike sighed, peeling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, “Feels that way. Work is sending me and Elle out to Indiana.” Dustin grinned cheekily and made a small noise in his throat, earning him a pair of raised eyebrows from Mike. 

“Are you finally going to tell tell your parents about her?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mike asked, a defensive edge slipping into his voice. Dustin teasingly scoffed.

“Don’t be so oblivious, Mike,” he laughed, “You are so clearly into her. Just ask her out already! I ordered pizza, by the way. Leftovers in the fridge.” 

“Thanks,” Mike sighed, moving into the open-concept kitchen, Winslow following along behind him, as always, hoping that the opening of the fridge meant food for him. Mike pulled out a half-empty pizza box and tore a slice in half, tossing some to his dog and devouring the rest. “And besides,” he continued with his mouth full, “It’s complicated.” 

“How?” Dustin rolled his eyes. 

“We’re partners,” Mike answered, not meeting Dustin’s gaze. He hated lying to his best friend, but there were certain things that it was better for Dustin not to know. 

“At a security consulting firm,” Dustin shook his head, “You need to just tell her how you feel, man.” Mike made a dismissive noise and feigned distraction on another slice of pizza. _If only it were that simple,_ he thought. 

Several blocks away, Elle pulled a half-finished container of takeout noodles out of her fridge and poked at them. She wasn’t particularly hungry and she certainly wouldn’t sleep tonight. Maybe returning to Hawkins was what she needed—after all these years, maybe she could finally put old ghosts to rest.


	4. Three

_August 1983_

Nausea coursing through her, vision blurring, Eleven glanced down at her trembling hands, spattered with deep red stains. Blood—and not her own. Eleven felt herself grow even more light-headed, swallowing the bile that threatened to rise up in her throat.

She had to keep going. For Mike, who had put himself in danger to help her. For herself; she had so much—everything—to lose and she wasn’t going to give up without dying trying.

Eleven didn’t look back at the bodies left broken in her wake, instead swiftly moving towards the drainpipe Mike had informed her about, using her powers to crack the tiles around it and provide herself a little bit more room to escape. A familiar trickle oozed over her upper lip as she stepped into the dark and claustrophobic tunnel, heavy, damp air closing in around her. Instinctively, Eleven reached up to wipe away her nosebleed with the back of her hand, but she stopped herself short. Her hands were already bloody—she’d wait to find water.

Steeling herself against the fear of darkness that clenched around her lungs, Eleven pressed forward, her feet scraping along on the concrete ground. The tunnel seemed to carry on endlessly and for the briefest of moments, Eleven entertained the thought that maybe Mike had been another one of Papa’s tests. No, she wouldn’t let herself think that. Mike was good and soft and different. She hoped he would understand why she’d never looked for him, why she’d never see him again.

The soles of her feet were ice cold and raw, her gown frayed at its hem, by the time Eleven saw daylight blinking above her in the distance. Though her legs resisted, she pushed herself the last several feet before allowing herself to stop and breathe, every muscle in her body alive with aching. Glancing up, Eleven shielded her eyes from the brilliance of the blue sky and wanted to cry, biting down on her quivering bottom lip—now caked with blood—to stop herself.

She was so close.

Despite the exhaustion that was threatening to shut her down entirely, Eleven attempted to begin her climb. But the cement was damp, scraping her fingernails to the skin as she worked, her feet unable to make it more than a few inches before she slid back down, frustrated and angry.

It wasn’t working.

Eleven drew in a deep, steadying breath. Focusing entirely on her own body as an object, outside of its pain and depletion, she willed herself to rise. A protest issued from her mind, a severe pounding between her eyes. She had never tried anything quite like this before and was beginning to doubt her ability to lift her own weight when the ground seemed to disappear beneath her.

Fists clenched with effort, Eleven continued to drift upwards, barely grasping the edge of the drain before her powers gave out, blood pooling in her ears. Shaking with the strain, Eleven pulled herself over the edge of the drain, collapsing on the long grass around her, the warmth of sunlight falling over her pale face.

She allowed herself a short rest—no more than one rotation of the thinnest hand on the watch Mike had given to her—before she unsteadily got to her feet and stumbled through the woods in which she now found herself. Eleven knew she had to find a safe place, though she wasn’t entirely sure what safety would look like. And so she began to walk, hunger gnawing at her stomach and bubbling into her throat. She paused only to wipe away the grime on her face, eager to be free of all traces of her past.

It wasn’t entirely clear to her just how long she had been walking when something caught her attention—a smell so tempting her feet began to move of their own accord, suddenly energized as they carried her near-broken body to what she hoped was a safe haven.

Emerging from the cover of thick trees, Eleven saw a sign in the distance. Benny’s Burgers. It meant little to her, but it looked like a shelter and there was that incredible smell. Drawing on her last reserves of courage, Eleven decided to take the risk.

\-----

_November 1998_

“You in there?”

Mike’s voice pulled Elle from her thoughts and she realized she’d been twirling the same fry around her fingers for the last several minutes, mustard smeared across her fingertips. Attempting a weak smile, she nodded and popped the fry into her mouth.

“It’s not cold?” Mike grinned at her, pulling the pickles out of his burger with a slightly disgusted grimace on his face.

Elle shrugged. “I like them better this way.” She reached across the small table and grabbed at the discarded pickles, sliding them into her own burger.

“Fair enough,” Mike laughed. “How’s the burger?” They had driven into Hawkins earlier that morning and Mike had insisted their first real meal be burgers from his favourite diner in town, where he had his friends had spent countless afternoons throughout high school, munching on fries and sipping shakes while they rushed through homework.

“It’s good,” Elle assured him, “But not even close to Benny’s.” She thought with fondness of her adoptive father, now in his fifties but still running his diner two towns over. She hadn’t been to visit him in a couple of years now—one of the downsides to her line of work—but called at least twice a week to check in. “I should go see him soon,” Elle sighed, only half-realizing she had spoken aloud.

Mike glanced up over his burger. “I’d love to meet him.” Elle met his gaze, her eyebrows raised in something like surprise and Mike immediately second-guessed his sentiment. Opening his mouth to apologize, he was interrupted.

“Maybe if we have a few days after this mission,” Elle said quietly, not meeting his eyes. Mike nodded thoughtfully, returning his attention to his food and letting silence fall over the table.

Taking a sip of her strawberry shake, Elle watched Mike out of the corner of her eye, noticing how his gaze swept the room every few minutes, as though he were afraid of being watched. It was inexplicable, but Elle felt more sad than afraid of being back in Hawkins. She had changed so much that she was certain no one would remember her—if there was anyone at all remaining at the Lab who once knew her.

But Mike, she knew, was a serial worrier and would need to be reassured that she had everything under control.

“If you see someone you know,” Elle spoke nonchalantly, trying to inject a little humour into the tension that seemed to linger over them, “You can just tell them I’m your girlfriend.”

\-----

When Elle woke the next morning, she reached for her phone, resting on the bedside table, and saw that she had a waiting message. Comfortable and warm, Elle sunk further into the pillows as she retrieved the message; as expected, it was from Mike.

He had already left to visit Will, as per the plan they had outlined the previous evening. Though she was interested in meeting Mike’s old friend, they had both agreed it would be best for Mike to attend to questioning himself.

Setting aside her phone, Elle rolled out of bed and stretched, slowly moving to the window of the hotel room and pulling back the thick burgundy drapes to look over the town’s mainstreet below her. It appeared so quaint and quiet, beautiful in its own small and trivial way. She watched, forehead pressed against the glass, as a young mother and father led their son, no more than six-years-old, out of a candy store, an oversized lollipop in each of their hands.

Elle felt a rush of sadness settle deep in her stomach, a nostalgia for something she had never fully experienced. She had grown up so close to this place, yet so far away from its homeliness, without a fraction of the love the people below her had felt. Benny was an incredible guardian, of course, but there was no way for even the best of him to replace the first twelve years of her life.

Turning away from the window, Elle retreated back to the bed, but she was restless, her fingers balling into fists involuntarily, scratching at the palms of her hands. Her life would never be—had never been—normal, but it was certainly better now. Perhaps there was even a semblance of love now. She had kept people so far away for so long, but Mike was close. Closer than anyone else.

Abruptly, she stood again, her feet padding across the carpeted floor to the door that adjoined Mike’s room to her own. With a quick nod, the lock clicked and the door swung open. Elle couldn’t help the smile that crept up on her lips at the sight of Mike’s clothes strewn carelessly about the room. They had been there less than a day and he had already made a mess.

As Elle entered Mike’s room she tried to ignore the nagging feeling that she shouldn’t be there. She felt something like a ghost, her eyes roaming over Mike’s possessions—his gadgets set up on the desk, the only neat thing in the entire room; his collection of sweaters and sneakers, tossed about.

Sighing, she sat down on the edge of his bed, a glint catching the corner of her eye. Carefully, Elle pulled Mike’s personal laptop out from its spot under his pillow and flipped open the lid. She recognized the screensaver photo as one taken just after they finished a mission in the Rocky Mountains. Over the beautiful landscape, the cursor was blinking where a password was required. Elle frowned; there was no way she would be able to guess Mike’s password, certainly some bizarre combination of letters and numbers meant to keep out unwanted eyes.

On a whim, Elle typed in her name: _Eleven_

Nothing happened and Elle rolled her eyes, mostly at herself for expecting that something would. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder, maybe even hope, even though she had no idea what she was wondering over.

She tried again: _Eleven011_

Still nothing. She wasn’t sure if Mike’s computer would wipe itself after any given number of login attempts and she hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys, trying to ascertain a possibility.

Mike hadn’t ever been fond of calling her Eleven. When they had first met, he had given her a new name; the name she had adopted and made her own.

Lips pursed, she typed in what she told herself would be a final attempt: _Elle011_

The screen blinked and Elle let out a sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in. When the loading screen disappeared, it was replaced by something that made her breath catch in her throat. It was a picture of her and Mike, sitting on his living room sofa with Winslow sprawled out across their laps. She remembered the day clearly; Dustin had taken the picture while they were waiting for pizzas to arrive and they had watched _Blade Runner_.

Elle swallowed, taking in the details of the familiar photo as she never had before—the way Winslow’s tongue was lolling out to the side, the way Mike’s eyes were glinting with laughter, the incredibly real and carefree smile on her face.

Suddenly, the room felt very small. Elle slammed the lid of the laptop closed and hurried back into her own room, grabbing the coat she had tossed over the television yesterday night. She wasn’t sure where she’d go, but she’d decide that along the way.

\-----

Mike rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting for the ringing doorbell to be answered. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it seemed as though more than a little dread was washing around in his stomach. It had been a few months since he had last visited Will and he hated being back on this familiar porch under the worst of circumstances.

Will opened the door with a guarded look, shoulders squared but upon seeing Mike’s condolent smile, his expression shifted quickly to relief. With a steady stream of reporters and police officers arriving at his door each day, it was a welcome change to see a familiar and friendly face.

“I heard what happened,” Mike explained, internally cringing at the inadequacy of the words. “Lucas phoned me and I thought I’d drive in to check on you.” It was a half-truth, but a safe explanation for what he was doing back in town. Will, like many of his other closest friends and family, had no inclination as to what Mike’s real job was.

“Thanks,” Will sighed, “I just threw on some coffee? Want to come in?” He opened the front door and gestured for Mike to enter.

It was always odd to see the Byers’s place as empty as it was these days—usually just Will and his foster-daughter, Rachel. Joyce had moved in with Jim Hopper, now her second husband, a few years ago and Jonathan lived in New York with Steve and Nancy.

“What happened?” Mike asked, settling into a kitchen chair and sipping at the coffee Will had placed before him. Will sunk into a seat across from him and Mike noted the bags under his eyes, the greying hair at the edges of his temples.

It took Will a long moment to reply, and Mike could tell he was trying to imagine that day—probably the worst day of his life—all over again.

“She went out to walk Bilbo,” Will said finally, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Out behind the shed, like we used to walk Chester when we were kids. But only Buster came back so—” he paused, his voice rattling as he blinked rapidly. “I honestly don’t know, Mike.” 

Will’s hands were shaking, wrapped around the warmth of his coffee mug. Mike, wishing he could tell his friend that his daughter was alive and angry that he couldn’t, closed his eyes. He reached across the table and firmly squeezed Will’s arm. “I’m sure she’s okay,” Mike tried to sound reassuring, “Hopper will find her.”

“I hope so Mike,” Will’s voice was quivering and tears began to well in his eyes. “I need her home safe.”

\-----

Upon returning to the hotel, arms laden with containers of food Will had forced upon him, Mike nudged Elle’s door with his toe but received no answer. He tried again, kicking a little louder. Still no response.

Mike frowned and pressed his ear to the door, listening for the sound of water. There was none—complete silence emanated from the room.

Concern flooding inside of him, Mike hastily set the food on the floor and fished for his room key in the pocket of his jeans. Hand shaking, it took three attempts for the door to swing open but Mike bustled inside quickly. In his heightened state it took a moment to remember that the clutter in his room was his regular state of being and not signs of a struggle.

But there was definitely one thing that was not the way he left it. Mike noted that door between his room and Elle’s was completely open. He rushed into her room, meticulous in every way, and, with a sinking stomach, noted the absence of her coat.

Elle was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, a huge heaping of praise for the lovely IrisVioletta (stevemossington on Tumblr) who helped me work out some kinks in the plot, edited this, and is all around a huge support. 
> 
> If you made it this far, I'm glad! I hope you enjoyed! Please leave a comment to let me know what you think. I update about once a week. 
> 
> Thanks again! 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Val (elevenknope on Tumblr)


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